Rancid

There is little
closer to purgatory
than the crowded
stuttering
stuffy train
during the evening
rush hour
but I discovered
there are degrees
of suffering.

The woman
appeared
relatively normal
twenty-something
Nordstrom's parka
innocuous
but she lugged with her
a neon teal and pink gym bag
which carried with it
a fetid stink.

The stench
filled the car
with such cringing force
you could not help
but ponder
it's deriving source
unwashed cloths perhaps
left fallow for years
or possibly
days old vomit
left to congeal and rot.

Dante did not
reconstruct
this particular misery
in his Divine Comedy
but I have to think
this banal woman
and her noxious sack
have some special place
for inflicting punishments
in the fiery hereafter.